Cuba’s vaccine could end up saving millions of lives

Cuba's Soberania 2 vaccine against covid-19

Cuba’s Soberania 2 vaccine against covid-19

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[This article first appeared on the Jacobin website on 22nd November 2021. This version is taken from the Portside website which published on 24th November 2021. It’s reproduced as it appeared then. While the richer countries of the ‘Global North’ seek to find more and more ways to hoard vaccines for their own, privileged populations the vast majority of people in the ‘Global South’ go unvaccinated. Campaigns for the abandoning of patent restrictions to allow even more countries to produce the various vaccines have, so far, achieved nothing. When the potential profits of ‘Big Pharma’ are at risk capitalist governments will find all kinds of spurious reasons to maintain the status quo. It is for the ‘Global South’ to help itself.]

Cuba’s vaccine could end up saving millions of lives

Thanks to its public biotech sector and its government’s deep commitment to public health, Cuba is now the only low-income country to have made its own covid vaccine, and it’s poised to help millions around the world.

Much of the press coverage of Cuba last week focused on the anti-government protests that didn’t eventuate. Less covered has been something of potentially greater global significance: its vaccination drive.

After a dire twelve months, when a too hasty reopening sent the pandemic surging, deaths peaking, and the country back into a crippling shutdown, a successful vaccination program has turned the pandemic around in the country. Cuba is now one of the few lower-income countries to have not only vaccinated a majority of its population, but the only one to have done so with a vaccine it developed on its own.

The saga suggests a path forward for the developing world as it continues struggling with the pandemic in the face of ongoing corporate-driven vaccine apartheid, and points more broadly to what’s possible when medical science is decoupled from private profit.

The Safer Gamble

According to Johns Hopkins University, as of the time of writing, Cuba has fully vaccinated 78 percent of its people, putting it ninth in the world, above wealthy countries like Denmark, China, and Australia (the United States, with a little below 60 percent of its population vaccinated, is ranked fifty-sixth). The turnaround since the vaccination campaign began in May has revived the country’s fortunes in the face of the twin shocks of the pandemic and an intensifying US blockade.

After a peak of nearly ten thousand infections and close to one hundred deaths each day, both figures have now plummeted. With 100 percent of the country having taken at least one vaccine dose by the end of last month, the country reopened its borders on November 15 to tourism, roughly a tenth of its economy, and has reopened schools. This makes Cuba an outlier among low-income countries, which have vaccinated only 2.8 percent of their combined populations. This is owed largely to vaccine hoarding by the developed world and their jealous guarding of patent monopolies, which bar poorer countries from developing generic versions of the vaccines that were produced through public funding in the first place.

Key to this outcome was Cuba’s decision to develop its own vaccines, two of which — Abdala, named for a poem penned by an independence hero, and Soberana 2, Spanish for ‘sovereign’ — were finally given official regulatory approval in July and August. In the words of Vicente Vérez Bencomo, the internationally acclaimed head of the country’s Finlay Vaccine Institute, the country was ‘betting it safe’ by waiting longer to manufacture its own vaccines. This way, it would avoid dependence on bigger allies like Russia and China while adding a new commercial export at a time of ongoing economic hardship.

These efforts are already underway. Vietnam, with only 39 percent of its population fully vaccinated, inked a deal to buy 5 million vaccine doses, with Cuba recently shipping more than 1 million of them to its communist ally, 150,000 of which were donated. Venezuela (32 percent fully vaccinated) also agreed to buy $12 million worth of the three-dose vaccine and has already started administering it, while Iran (51 percent) and Nigeria (1.6 percent) have agreed to partner with the country to develop their own home-grown vaccines. Syria (4.2 percent) has recently discussed with Cuban officials the prospect of doing the same.

The two vaccines are part of a suite of five covid vaccines Cuba is developing. That includes a vaccine delivered nasally that’s progressed to Phase II of clinical studies, one of only five vaccines in the entire world that have a nasal application, according to one of its top scientists, that could be particularly useful if proven to be safe and effective, given the virus’s entry through the nasal cavity. It also includes a booster shot specially designed to work for those already inoculated with other vaccines, and which was recently trialed on Italian tourists. Since September, Cuba’s been in the process of getting World Health Organization approval for its vaccines, which would open the door to its widespread adoption.

A Different Vaccine

Several aspects make Cuba’s vaccines unique besides their country of origin, according to Helen Yaffe, senior lecturer in economic and social history at the University of Glasgow. At the heart of it is Cuba’s decision to pursue a more traditional protein vaccine rather than the more experimental mRNA technology used for the covid vaccines we’ve become familiar with, which had been in development for decades before the onset of the pandemic led to a breakthrough.

Because of this, Cuba’s vaccine can be kept in a fridge or even at room temperature, as opposed to the subpolar temperatures the Pfizer vaccine has to be stored at or the freezer temperatures Moderna’s vaccine requires. ‘In the Global South, where huge amounts of the population have no access to electricity, it’s just another technological obstacle,’ says Yaffe.

And while the mRNA technology, which has never been used on kids before, has meant a lag between adult and child vaccination in the developed world — and means vaccines for kids under five are still being developed — Cuba aimed from the outset to create a vaccine that kids could take. As of this month, it’s fully vaccinated more than four-fifths of all kids aged two to eighteen.

While roughly two-thirds of all kids were shut out from school in Latin America and the Caribbean as of September, Cuba has now reopened its classrooms. Gloria La Riva, an activist and independent reporter who has been visiting Cuba throughout the year and has been in Havana since mid-October, described the scene at the Ciudad Escolar 26 de Julio as parents and grandparents turned out for the school’s reopening.

‘It’s a very big thing for the families,’ she says. ‘Everyone feels this enormous pride.’

The Power of Nonprofit

There’s one more factor that sets the Cuban vaccine apart. ‘The Cuban vaccine is 100 percent entirely a product of a public biotech sector,’ says Yaffe.

While in the United States and other developed countries, lifesaving medicines are developed thanks largely to public funding before their profits and distribution are ruthlessly privatized for corporate enrichment, Cuba’s biotech sector is wholly publicly owned and funded. That means Cuba has de-commodified a vital human resource — the exact opposite policy direction that we’ve seen in these last four decades of neoliberalism.

Cuba has poured billions of dollars into creating a domestic biotech industry since the 1980s, when a combination of an outbreak of dengue fever and new economic sanctions from then president Ronald Reagan forced its hand. Despite a crushing blockade by the United States, responsible for a third of the world’s pharmaceutical production, Cuba’s biotech sector has thrived: it makes nearly 70 percent of the roughly eight hundred medicines that Cubans consume and eight of the eleven vaccines in the country’s national immunization program, and it exports hundreds of millions of vaccines a year. The revenues are then reinvested into the sector.

‘All these vaccines that have a very large impact on science are very expensive vaccines, economically inaccessible to the country,’ Vérez Bencomo said recently about Cuba’s decision to develop its own vaccines.

The sector is internationally acclaimed. Cuba has won ten Gold Medals from the United Nations’ World Intellectual Property Organization (WIPO) for, among other things, developing the world’s first meningitis B vaccine in 1989. In 2015, Cuba became the first country to eliminate mother-to-child transmission of HIV and syphilis, a result of both the retroviral drugs it had produced and its robust public health care system.

In this way, Cuba has been able to do the unthinkable, developing its own vaccine and outdoing much of the developed world in overcoming the pandemic, despite its size and level of wealth, and despite a policy of concerted economic strangulation from a hostile government off its shores. International solidarity efforts have been vital, too. When the US blockade meant a shortage of syringes on the island, jeopardizing its vaccination campaign, solidarity groups from the United States alone sent 6 million syringes to Cuba, with the Mexican government sending eight hundred thousand more, and more than one hundred thousand on top of that coming from Cubans in China.

A Source of Hope

Even so, there is some uncertainty around Cuba’s vaccines. Their use in Venezuela has met objection from the country’s pediatric physicians unions and medical and scientific academies, on the same basis as other critics, who say the vaccine trial results haven’t been peer-reviewed and published in international scientific journals. The Pan American Health Organization has called on Cuba to make the results public.

For his part, Vérez Bencomo blames an international community hostile to Cuba. In a September interview, he charged that Cuba’s scientists were being discriminated against by major journals, who he said had a history of rejecting submissions from Cubans while later publishing similar research from other countries, and act as ‘a barrier that tends to marginalize scientific results that come from poor countries.’

These are pretty serious charges from a globally respected scientist. A winner of the Cuban National Chemistry Award and a 2005 WIPO Gold Medal, Vérez Bencomo led the team that worked with a Canadian scientist to develop the world’s first semisynthetic vaccine, creating a more affordable shot to protect against Haemophilus influenzae type B. Upon helping develop the low-cost vaccine against meningitis, he was barred in 2005 from traveling to California to accept an award for it, with the George W. Bush State Department deeming his visit ‘detrimental to the interests of the United States.’ In 2015, he was made a Knight of the Legion of Honor by France’s then minister of social affairs and health, who commended him for his work and called him a ‘friend of France.’ (Vérez Bencomo did not respond to a request for an interview).

While Cuba’s rebound from the pandemic suggests his and the Cuban government’s confidence in the vaccines isn’t misplaced, it may take some more time for them to get the international scientific community’s official imprimatur. Should it come, it would prove a powerful refutation of the corporate-driven vaccine model that has so far dominated, which holds that, in line with the talking points of Big Pharma, only profit-driven competition can produce the kind of lifesaving innovation the world is desperate for.

Perhaps more importantly, it may be a way for the developing world to finally crawl out of the pandemic-shaped hole it looks no nearer to escaping now, months after vaccines have been rolled out in wealthy countries. Western governments have continued to oppose calls from the Global South to waive vaccine patents and allow them to manufacture or buy cheaper generic versions, leaving the vast majority of the world’s people still vulnerable to the virus — and, ironically, endangering us all, should new, vaccine-resistant strains mutate in the country-sized petri dishes this unbalanced policy has created. In that sense, we should all hope that Cuba’s vaccines are proven as successful as its scientists are sure they are.

Branko Marcetic is a Jacobin staff writer and the author of Yesterday’s Man: The Case Against Joe Biden. He lives in Chicago, Illinois.

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Confronting a 21st century pandemic with 14th century tactics

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Ukraine – what you’re not told

Confronting a 21st century pandemic with 14th century tactics

Depending upon which ‘fact’ you believe the covid pandemic has been with us for just over or just under two years. 21st century societies, especially those in the richer countries, pride themselves on their sophistication and ability to deal with any problem that arises with the technologies that have been (and/or are in the process of being) developed through the increase in scientific knowledge, a process that really took off towards the end of the 20th century. Indeed, such claims have been made ever since the climate emergency became more widely known and accepted by the majority of scientists but not by some world leaders nor many of the companies that have played (and are still playing) a major role in causing the problem in the first place. Technology, those climate deniers say, will always come up with a solution – even if not until the eleventh hour.

However, the first time this bizarre ‘theory’ is put into practice it falls far short of the over-riding solution it is supposed to be.

Most countries put their faith in a vaccine that would protect against the outbreak and it arrived, relatively, quickly. This was due to an unbelievably huge public investment into the work of private companies (who are now reaping the benefit with their huge profits – why wasn’t something written in the agreement that in return for the public investment the vaccines would be supplied at cost?) and the knowledge base that had been established over the last couple of decades. But when the vaccine arrived it wasn’t enough.

First the vaccine was just going to be for the most ‘vulnerable’ in society but it was no surprise that those countries that had the wherewithal to secure vaccines would soon roll out the programme to include the majority of their population. Now children as young as five are being vaccinated and it would be no real surprise if babies and infants are soon to be included as well. First it was thought that two injections would be sufficient but now third ‘booster’ shots are being given to many in the rich countries and there is already talk that a regular ‘top-up’ injection might be the way forward for the next few years, at least.

This selfish grabbing of as many vaccines as possible by a few countries means that even after two years of the pandemic the vast majority of the population of the world (i.e., those in the poor South) haven’t even had a single injection. That’s bad enough but what is worse is that it doesn’t even seem to be an issue at the moment. Government’s keep their populations ‘happy’ – or at least some of them – by pumping the stuff into their arms and the calls to extend the vaccination to those who really are now the world’s ‘vulnerable’ fall on deaf ears. As with compensation due to the consequences of the climate emergency all the promises have come to nought.

The fact that we are in the middle (or even just the start) of a pandemic which, by definition, effects every corner of the globe, seems to have been forgotten as well as the fact that the longer the virus is allowed to grow and mutate in huge parts of the world the more it is likely to come back (to the North) in a form which the vaccines won’t be able to combat.

Not only has the vaccine programme in the richer countries been a display of immorality and hypocrisy it also demonstrates that nationalism and tribalism is triumphant and concern for the really poor people of the world is non-existent.

Worse still it’s not really working. There may be various reasons for this, the unvaccinated are in the firing line at the moment, but the prime reason is that no country in the world has really developed a proper strategy to deal with a disease that will likely be with us forever so has to be managed rather than defeated. The military terminology used from the start has blinded people to the reality that there is no real winner in this case.

As the days pass more countries in Europe are re-introducing various restrictions and lock downs. In Britain the Buffoon has said that’s not going to happen there but there have been so many U-turns in the last 18 months the Government resembles a child’s spinning top – so no real guarantee for the near future.

In the very first posts in this series ‘The Journal of the Plague Years 2020-2?’ the question was asked whether we, as a society in general, had learnt anything since the Black Death of the 14th century or the Great Plague of London in the 17th. Then the response was to hide away and hope for the best and, in reality, that’s all we’re doing now.

No society in the world has really taken a pro-active approach to dealing with the virus in a manner which didn’t create collateral damage which could ultimately be more expensive in the long run.

The problem is that such a strategy (which needs a whole raft of measures which include, but are not restricted to, a functioning, reliable and trustworthy testing arrangement which includes viable and effective support for those with the virus to be able to, and encouraged to, isolate for the general good) is not really viable in a capitalist society which leaves everything to the ‘free market’.

Because of that the merry-go-round of lockdown to lockdown is more than likely to continue for some time yet and the last page of this ‘Journal’ will not be published until some time yet.

 

Vaccination programme (and now a pill) in Britain …..

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Pfizer says antiviral pill 89% effective in high risk cases.

AstraZeneca to take profits from covid vaccine.

Medication holiday may boost vaccine protection.

Covid-resistant people inspire new vaccine tactic.

It’s bad enough that the richer countries are hoovering up all the available resources of vaccines – leaving the poorer countries to just manage on the crumbs – but now there are threats being made if people don’t take extra vaccinations (when at first we were told that two would be sufficient). When is this going to stop? Get a covid booster jab or risk more restrictions, warns the Buffoon.

Merck v Pfizer: here’s how the two new covid antiviral drugs work and will be used.

Care homes: why mandatory vaccination could make staff shortages worse.

Making vaccination compulsory for NHS frontline workers likely to make patients suffer.

….. and the rest of the world

This is Pfizer. What’s the catch? They’ve earned billions in the last year or so – so why this generous, esoteric approach now? Pfizer to allow developing nations to make its treatment pill.

Novavax covid vaccine is nearing approval – but what impact will it have?

How the pandemic is faring in Britain …..

Covid makes Christmas ‘problematic’, says Jonathan Van-Tam as he warns ‘darkest months’ are ahead of us.

UK bucking trend of rising covid cases in Europe.

Will this mean the return of free dental treatment for all in the UK? I don’t think so. Why having bad oral health could raise the risk of covid.

….. and throughout the world

Some of the richest capitalist countries in the world and they still can’t get it right! Even when they’ve been hoovering up unbelievably high doses of vaccine. WHO warns Europe once again at epicentre of pandemic.

Belarus: how an unpopular government is struggling to manage the covid crisis.

Austria’s lockdown for the unvaccinated: what does human rights law say? [This might now be redundant in the case of Austria but such a situation is sure to arise somewhere in the world before the end of the pandemic.]

How Peru became the country with the highest covid death rate in the world.

WHO says it is very worried about Europe surge.

‘Long covid’

Long covid: my work with sufferers reveals that western medicine has reached a crisis point.

Vulnerability to the virus

Gene commonly found in south Asian people affects covid severity.

The future treatment of the virus

Promising covid treatments could be growing under the sea.

A nation (or, perhaps, even wider afield) of hypochondriacs?

Is the common cold really much worse this year?

More on ‘covid passports/passes’

Why covid passes are not discriminatory (in the way you think they are).

‘Collateral damage’

What happened to furloughed workers after the end of the Job Retention Scheme?

The cost of covid: what happens when children don’t go to school.

Obesity among children soars after lockdown – and yet the country is bemoaning the fact that there is a ‘shortage’ of crisps!

Calling children ‘vectors’ during covid-19 is turning into discrimination.

…. or not?

Young and ethnic minority workers were hardest hit at the start of covid, but not any more.

Poverty in Britain

Hunger and the welfare state: Food insecurity among benefit claimants during covid-19. The executive summary, the Full Report and the Appendices.

England: Landlord possessions increase by 207%.

Cambs Universal Credit claimants ‘struggling to make ends meet’ after £20 cut.

Those continuing to profit from the pandemic – and often after huge public investment in research

This week Pfizer announced profits so far this year of $7.7 billion, 133% more than it made last year. And Moderna has made $7.3 billion in profit, after receiving over $10 billion of public funding for development and manufacture of its vaccine

This is a strange one

How creative industries could boost the economies of small islands crippled by covid.

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Philanthropy is a scam

Bill Gates

In recent years, Bill Gates has become one of the world’s most high-profile philanthropists. Credit: Stephen Voss/Getty Images

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Philanthropy is a scam

by Julieta Caldas

[This article first appeared on the Tribune website on 9th October 2021. It is being reproduced here (exactly as it appeared originally) as it makes some important points about the hypocritical society we have become, with its veneration of so-called ‘celebrities’ and blinding ourselves to the patently obvious – the rich have always, are now and will in the future do anything and everything to ensure that they maintain their power and influence, whatever their actions might appear to be on the surface.]

Charitable giving among the super-rich has one goal, and it isn’t to change the world – it’s to keep it exactly the way it is.

Up until the turn of this century, the word Philanthropy might have called to mind old-money benefactors whose names are printed on walls of galleries, universities, and hospitals. According to a fresh generation of superrich entrepreneurs negotiating their own newfound charitable impulses, it can now refer to almost anything – from tiny peer donations towards medical bills to billionaires propping up foreign regimes. In recent years these new philanthropists, eager to remodel the charitable sector in the image of their business endeavours, have come to unequivocally dominate the field.

Where philanthropists of old felt compelled to selectively fund the arts and sciences to express their exalted taste as representatives of a cultured elite, it is this new generation’s track record of profitmaking which has, in its eyes, earned it the right—and the responsibility—to determine which social problems need solving. If they can invent technologies that uproot the ways we work and live, the logic goes, they can figure out world hunger. As more billionaires promise to donate larger swathes of their fortunes, Big Philanthropy continues to grow as an auxiliary industry – working more quietly and garnering infinitely more influence than the philanthropy of the gala circuit.

For these types, the philanthropic drive no longer seems to stem from public pressure. The congratulatory fervour that met Bill Gates and Warren Buffet’s initial 2010 Giving Pledge has long since faded, and figures like Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk have more recently managed to fly under the radar and give away comparatively miniscule sums. The impetus, instead, is a desire to extend the logic of entrepreneurship out beyond the confines of the market. The key word, borrowed from the world of start-ups, is ‘disruption’.

Defined by ‘disruption guru’ Clayton Christensen as something that ‘displaces an existing market, industry or technology and produces something new and more efficient and worthwhile’, it is a force ‘at once destructive and creative’. The ambitious ‘philanthropreneur’ takes aim at the clunky, inconvenient elements of civic life and international governance and in doing so opens up new avenues for his business.

In the philanthropist’s view, the world is good—a world of growing wealth, a widening middle class, and lesser inequality—but suffers enduring problems which can, with enough money and the right approach, be solved at great scale. The governments and NGOs usually tasked with addressing these problems are beset by tradition, red tape, and bureaucratic sprawl. Their own brand of social justice, by contrast, follows only the imperative for ruthless innovation. While states often struggle to pursue long-term goals while responding to immediate crises, a billionaire’s foundation—far less regulated and with nearly infinite money—can easily do both.

Over the past few years, more and more philanthropists have been producing manifestos, treatises and apologias to make this case. Lisa Greer’s Philanthropy Revolution (2020), Jacqueline Novogratz’s Manifesto for a Moral Revolution (2020), and Alexandre Mars’s Giving: Purpose is the New Currency (2018) each offer a blend of anecdotal praise for their own philanthropic efforts and visions for the future of the field.

These writers overwhelmingly refer to the act of philanthropy using the euphemistic term ‘giving’, which both obviates the need to concretely mention money and stresses the generosity of donors. When it comes to the objectives of the giving, many state that it is not only a social obligation but potentially healthy for business (hence why profits never really suffer even when the billionaires give away large portions of their shares). That giving, therefore has the explicit dual aim of maximising social benefit and return on investment.

Novogratz offers a characteristically half-hearted summation of its altruistic impulses when she suggests that ‘impact investment is not only morally defensible but now also economically advantageous, even necessary’. Indeed, given that philanthropic programmes for change tend to centre around lower-controversy issues like hunger, disease and education access—while fair pay, labour rights, and affordable housing, which would meaningfully reduce poverty and thus are incompatible with the exploitative business models of large tech companies, sit more firmly within the remit of government—philanthropists generally stand to gain a lot more than they lose.

The grandaddy of philanthropy books, Matthew Bishop’s 2008 Philanthrocapitalism: How the Rich Can Save the World, outlines the capitalist motives of Big Philanthropy far more brazenly than any of its more recent counterparts. Closing out with a comprehensive ‘Good Billionaire’s Guide’, Bishop’s contention is that, ‘if philanthrocapitalists are to be a legitimate part of the solution to the world’s problems, a new “social contract” is needed’ to delineate their role. The reasoning behind this is predictable but surprising to see expressed aloud: ‘if the rich do not take on this responsibility, they risk provoking the public into a political backlash against the economic system that allowed them to become so wealthy’.

The fear, then, is not of being falsely accused, but of being found out. Even when taking a category as large and broad as ‘the poor’ as the desired recipient of their aid, it is clear that the philanthropic system depends upon them remaining splintered and isolated as subjects. It represents, at best, a capitalism generously willing to help alleviate the problems it causes.

In their manifestos, however, philanthropists are eager to argue for the field’s transformative potential. A number of the books either have the word ‘revolution’ in the title or repeatedly highlight the need to ‘revolutionise’ the world of giving, and by extension, the way the world works. If ‘revolution’ evokes the overthrow of an oppressive or unworkable regime, the philanthropists seem to take as their target nothing less than the entire apparatus by which states are organised. The inefficiency and stasis of governments, nonprofits, multilateral governing bodies, and the like is—to them—intractable.

While they take pride in their ability to influence government policy on issues they deem important, they are also eager to prove the efficacy of their working above and around politics. In his foreword to Philanthrocapitalism, Bill Clinton states that, at the time of writing, members of his Clinton Global Initiative had made ‘more than 1,400 commitments valued at $46 billion that have already improved the lives of more than 200 million people in 150 countries’.

A new crop of books billed as practical guides to philanthropy—including Lisa Greer’s Philanthropy Revolution and Phil Buchanan’s Giving Done Right—has also recently sought to make the flexible, nebulous concept of philanthropy more appealing at the ground level. The obvious question that the publication of these books begs is: how many people are wealthy enough to be able to be considered philanthropists, as opposed to people who donate money to charity? Surely less than the number of people who would be expected to buy a mass-market paperback. The question—in the eyes of many philanthropists—resolves itself through a radical democratisation of the category.

In the future, they argue, anyone will be able to be a philanthropist. Bishop points to peer-to-peer microfinance platforms like JustGiving as a form of ‘popular philanthrocapitalism’, offering a degree of transparency and feedback that previously was reserved for superrich donors. Alexandre Mars suggests that charitable donation might eventually be woven into the fabric of everyday life, with a few cents tacked onto the cost of a coffee when you tap your card, and so on.

What is shared among all these thinkers is the sense that, whether ordinary people involve themselves in it or not, the power of philanthropy is inexorable, as billionaires continue to get richer and their money begets more influence. Of generations Y and Z, Mars writes: ‘They are not stupid—they can see that political and economic power no longer reside solely in religions and governments’ – and their new appreciation of the workings of power does not, in his account, take the form of a political consciousness, but a recognition of the new supreme power of business. The philanthropists appear to see the implication of corporations in social life as a rising tide which we may be able to divert or quell, but not fully control.

And while they duly acknowledge the potential dangers of the superrich circumventing democracy and buying seats at decision-making tables, they remain optimistic – in both the superior judgement of entrepreneurs and in the market’s ability to develop the best solutions to the world’s problems. In a brief moment of soul-searching, Bishop asks: ‘Should we worry about the growing ambition and ability of the rich to influence political decisions? Will this coming golden age of philanthropy also be an age of plutocracy?’ Perhaps, but the important follow-up is this: ‘and if so, can anything be done to make this prospect less worrying for the public?’

What appears to critics of philanthrocapitalists as a blind spot in their vision of the world (namely, their own implication in the social ills they seek to remedy) is, quite consciously, their point. While the more recent books attempt to cast philanthrocapitalism as a method of more efficiently serving the charitable sector, or less generously of stimulating global economic prosperity in a way that also benefits laypeople, Bishop shows it for what it is: a new window-dressing for the creation of extreme wealth and the expansion of corporate influence over politics and private life.

He articulates the neatly perverse logic of philanthrocapitalism when he anticipates the aftermath of the 2008 crash: ‘The world still has plenty of superrich people. Indeed, overall, the superrich are likely to emerge from the crisis in better financial shape than anyone else.’ Therefore, crucially, ‘the reservoir of wealth to fund philanthrocapitalism is still there.’ This self-fulfilling cycle—capitalism creates wealth, and thereby inequality, and thereby the conditions for the rich to spend surplus money on helping the poor, without ever alleviating poverty—dates back (Bishop points out) to the Renaissance, when both capitalism and philanthropy were born.

Aiming as they do to uphold the class divide that brought about philanthropy in the first place, the philanthrocapitalists’ true enemy is not inequality but populism. Their version of politics, a kind of anti-politics, is endlessly self-obfuscating, but the vast majority of them essentially describe the kind of market-friendly, ‘socially progressive’ politics of the Clinton Third Way. Rather than trickle-down economics as such, they propound the idea that well-informed and benevolent billionaires will consciously pour their money into the right places. Their justifications are cloaked in the language of collaboration and listening, but their guiding principles are nakedly technocratic.

The World Economic Forum, a hotbed for philanthropreneurs like Gates and Buffet, offers a model for the much-vaunted collaboration between public and private sectors in the form of ‘stakeholder governance’, wherein corporations recruit consultants from government, civil society and academia to create their own versions of multilateral organisations. As Ivan Wecke reported for OpenDemocracy, there are now more than 45 multi-stakeholder groups in operation that set policy agendas and establish industry guidelines globally. In 2019, an agreement signed between the WEF and the UN cemented the privileged position afforded to corporations and entrepreneurs on the global stage.

By way of visions for the future of philanthropy, many of the milder books offer up either a promise of greater accountability for foundations, or a reinvention of the concept of taxation. At the end of The Givers, his survey of contemporary philanthropy, David Callahan concludes: ‘None of the reforms I’ve suggested will substantially limit the influence of wealthy philanthropy over public life. Perhaps the best we can hope for is that funders bring greater self-restraint and mindfulness to giving that affects the lives of their fellow citizens’. The neoliberal imagination is nothing if not humble; all it can ask of us is to share its faith that a culture of moderation and transparency could in theory keep the philanthropists’ sprawling networks of influence in check. Accordingly, the purpose of these books is not to imagine a changed world but to foster trust that the billionaires will get us there.

At the end of Novogratz’s book she is at Riyadh Airport, coming back from a trip with fellows from her impact investment fund, when her bubble is burst with the intrusion of a ‘surly worker’ who ‘harasses’ her for unnamed reasons. Her response to the affront is stoic—‘I focused again on holding my composure, reminding myself not to allow his disrespect to inform my actions’—but the sour taste left by the unaccommodating worker lingers on. And here, the paradox inherent to Bishop’s neologism is laid bare: what would a capitalism be that loved its subjects?

About the Author

Julieta Caldas is a writer based in London. Her essays appear in Voiceworks and The Line of Best Fit, among others.

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